The Good Soldier
by Soul of Ashes
Summary: Sephiroth is awakened, but recalls very little of his past. He searches for a certain blonde-haired man, only to find himself being followed...
1. A Second Chance

Author's Notes: I am co-authoring this story with a good friend of mine, named Akemo. She got stuck with this story, having no idea what to do, but it seemed logical that we write a story together since we used to text role-play so much and these characters, Sephiroth and Maya, go waaay back. The first chapter is started by Akemo, of course. And the next is mine, and we alternate back and forth, just so you know!

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He could smell rain. Yet, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky that he could see. Blue stretched as far as the eye could reach, shining with the brilliance of a summer sun. He rested on a rock upon a cliff that overlooked the sea below, with the forest at his back. The sound of the water crashing upon the rocks seemed a lullaby to his ears, the constant pounding of chaos that resembled his own tattered thoughts since his recent "awakening". The legendary Masamune rested on the ground in a small sheath, his trench coat, and layers of armor upon the ground in a pile next to him, leaving him in his pants with bare feet and soaking wet silver hair. His chest was shining from his recent swim, and his greenish-blue eyes were calm for once.

He reached up to rub his fingers along the scar across his chest, and various other tiny small stitches that he had from recent operations. He could remember a few things – seeing the spiky blonde man, dying. But why, he couldn't remember. He could barely remember his name anymore. But it's not like he was going to walk around with "HI! My name is: Sephiroth" written on his hand to remind him. He would just keep contentiously moving, keeping his head busy so he wouldn't have time to sit and think like this. The scientist who helped him, who found him explained to him that he was dead when they found him, but they brought him back with the same energy that they had found lying dormant near him – Mako. He couldn't remember what that was – but he knew it was deadly important. In fact, he could barely remember how to use a sword. They gave him what information they could on his recorded life, but so much was missed; unrecorded.

Clenching his fist and watching his muscles move, he closed his eyes and sighed. He should be dead, shouldn't he? He wouldn't say that it was peaceful before, but it wasn't horrid either. It was as if he were in the mixture of both, surrounded by – surrounded by what? He didn't want to loose that beautiful feeling but he couldn't hold onto it. He opened his eyes again, and gathered his items. He wasn't going to hold on for much longer so the scientists could continue to poke and prod him. They had helped him so far, but would they continue to be his friend? He doubted it. Scientists worked only for their progress, and if his health hindered it, they wouldn't hesitate to throw him away again. Sephiroth honestly couldn't say that he wouldn't welcome death right now, but he had a growing feeling that he had some kind of purpose on this planet this time.

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His movements were easeful and graceful to say the least. The weight of the sword or the armor seemed like feathers to him, though his body often tired from the hike uphill. He hadn't used his entire body so it wasn't as if he were up to his usual stamina. The path was barren to say the least, and not exciting at all to the eye or to the idle mind. But his mind was far from idle, going through what he could try and remember without giving himself a headache worse then the one building at the base of his skull. He couldn't remember much of the spiky haired man with the blonde hair, but he knew somewhere in the pit of his stomach he had to find him. The man probably wouldn't be glad to see him, but he had to find out who he was. More then the scientists would have to give to him.

The first thing he saw in his sights was a large dump it would seem. How could this be a town? Some gruff looking men stood outside with what seemed spears, dressed in uniforms. They seemed familiar, and yet he knew that he had not seen them before. Their expressions seemed to speak to him million more then the thoughts that filled his head. He paused in his footing and closed his eyes again briefly, hands closing at his sides. A burning was beginning at the base of his gut, working slowly upwards. A sort of blood thirst that was so natural seeming that it made him want to loose the sandwich he had eaten earlier. He threw his mind into a black oblivion at an almost new instinct, and when he returned and opened his eyes, he caught the end of what one guard was saying to the other.  
  
"…Is another clone."  
  
He didn't understand what they meant, but he kept moving forward trying to move past them before a large spear nearly electrocuted him. Startled, he stepped back two or three steps as he watched the men, blinking so the glow to his eyes -- which he had no idea was there – dimmed. The guard laughed, and used the blunt of the weapon to shove Sephiroth back a few steps until he was at least a foot or two in distance to them. Watching the men silently for a few seconds, he just stood there, staring blankly at them. The breeze came up, seemingly out of the dead city and stirred through his hair as the men waited, seemingly, for his return move. They were itching for a fight.  
  
"What is it boy? Too stupid to realize what you are? NO clones allowed. Read the sign there."  
  
The other guard who had kept silent snickered, and pointed with his spear, which cracked with energy at a half beaten down sign that had basically repeated what the guard said. No Clones Allowed. He didn't understand. Clone? And he looked like one? Surely they were misunderstanding. He stepped up again, trying to get through the people but again he was met with a sharp jolt. Before he even knew what he was doing his sword was out, and the man's hand was swiftly tumbling to the ground with his staff still gripped in the fingers. The surge of power that ran through him at the sight of blood made him grin as he turned those glowing eyes up at the shocked and paralyzed solider. With a swift movement of the blade again – and a soft thud – the man's head was joined with his hand, soon followed by his body to the ground.

That was all Tifa saw as she stepped from the bar, running her hands through her hair after a rough night. A silvery haired man that was unmistakable, and the death of one man soon followed by the other before the killer disappeared into the clouds of buildings. He was back.


	2. Answers

Tifa was ready to give up again. There was absolutely no use in getting anyone to listen to her unless she initiated her ever-trustworthy security system, real name Barret. One moment he'd be sitting down, peaceful as ever - the next, he was up and roaring like a disturbed bear, almost foaming at the mouth like any crazed beast. She merely leaned back, swiping back her long dark hair with a grumble before all was peaceful. The whole operation took less than a minute. A few bullets thrown, but nobody was hurt.

"I think," she sighed, "we're done. Go home. I've had enough tonight."

Barret shrugged. "You show you gonna be awright?"

"I'm positive. Just get going. I'll clean up here."

Barret was a nice guy. A big marshmallow, really, deep down. But tonight she was not fond of his company, and only needed just a little time to think. After a long time of cleaning, methodically rinsing and disinfecting shot glasses and mugs alike, she finally flicked the switch for the quirky sign outside and finally the lights inside. She pulled on a leather jacket hanging behind the counter, buttoning it up before stuffing her hands in her pockets and moving toward the door, fingering the keys inside the pockets.

Outside the air was warm. It carried the hint of garbage that lay everywhere. Maybe she was just used to it, but some people would say you could vomit from lingering down here under the remnants of filth. Great politicians built this world; now it was all mostly in ruin. The only thing buzzing around here was the fabled Seventh Heaven - where it all began.

She turned her back to lock the door. The moment she pushed the keys into her pocket again, she felt a whisper of warm air against her ear and there were already arms wrapped around her. Her mind called up the haunting image of the silver-haired man, whom she had seen just a few days ago. She shuddered, tensing, but before she could even raise a fist, the arm squeezed around her chest, just under her breasts, squeezing the air from her.

The voice pooled into her ears like soft mako liquid, glowing and beautiful but full of poison. "You have something to tell me," the voice purred.

"Let go and I'll tell you," she coughed.

"Tell me, and I'll let you go."

"I can't breathe!" she argued, squirming and lifting her leg. Before she could strike a blow he pushed her against the door and stumbled back off the steps. She turned around, reaching into her coat and rubbing her ribs.

"Pity," he growled, his eyes hooded and dangerous. "Alright. Forgive me. You want to go home. I want to know where 'this' man is." He reached into his long jacket pocket and produced a photo. He stepped up to give it to her. His closeness nearly scared the shit out of her. She snatched it away, earning her a winning smile from the taller man.

It was Cloud, although the photo was a little shoddy and wrinkled, and taped together. One corner was almost completely burned away. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "Why do you want to know? Are you another Clone?"

"It doesn't matter!" he snapped. "Just tell me. Then you can go home. Right?"

"I don't know where he is," she answered truthfully. "He left awhile ago, said he needed to go exploring by himself. I kept trying to go with him, but...yeah. Anyway, he's not here."

She hoped he believed her. Whoever this Clone thought he was, he wouldn't find Cloud even if she did know where he was. Chances are, by the time the Clone got there he'd already moved on. Tifa's heart was still pounding. He'd killed so heartlessly before. Would he believe her? _Pleaseplease believe me. I really don't know where he is._

"You might look in Gongaga. He could be visiting Zack's parents," she blurted suddenly. _Yes, that's right. Could be. Good thinking, girl._

"And where is that?"

"I can give you a map... it's near Cosmo Canyon. Are you familiar with that place?"

"Somewhat. You'd better not be lying to me, girl... or you will find me on your doorstep, and I won't be begging for milk." He punctuated by licking his lips slowly, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stepped close... holding out his hand. She quickly placed the picture in his possession, and dug around in her jacket's inside pockets for the map. She smacked that down into his palm as well.

"Goodnight," the Clone said, several steps away. He seemed apologetic, but it could have all been a clever facade to mask his true malice.


	3. The Cold Killer

There were too many clones now. Sitting wrapped in a hobo's clothing near one of the local bars, the hooded figure scowled at the gaurds passing by without a second thought to the poor thing asking for change with a dirty gloved hand up. They didn't see the glow of green eyes below, the soft strands of silver hair in dirty clumps cut short to hide the likeliness. She was a clone - in fact, the only female ever to be sucessfully made. So close to the original it was insane. She was also one of their highly kept secrets. Well, until she escaped.  
  
She had searched for him so long. She killed many of the clones she came across. She knew that the day she found him (she didn't think he was dead - he couldn't be!), the real him. So it was with an interest that she had seen the man come into town the other day, his fight against the gaurds. The fear in his own eyes at what he had done - she had forgotten him then. Another just recently awoken probably - another geneticly altered test to become the best that would just falter and fall into the insanity again. You think that they would learn after the first few hundreds that the gene was defective in itself. They should have stopped at her - after the brutality - the training, she had only turned and bit the hand that fed her.  
  
Only when he showed up behind that big-breasted freak did she take notice. The sly words used - of course he wouldn't notice some half-drunken (apparently) hobo stumbling by, reeking of trash and discarded waste. The head was kept low and the familiar presence would be faltering at best - though she knew it was safe enough and was stupid enough to attempt it to get a glance. The fear reeking off the woman was positively entrancing, and she almost gave up the guise there and challenged this pointy - haired freak to a duel then and there though when she caught the glimpse of cloud - she started. She knew he was the one who had supposedly killed 'him' and the fact that this man was now looking for him. Shared memories perhaps? Sometimes the clones had that? She could recall memories that were so vivid but she knew weren't hers. Something now, stuck out though.  
  
She tried not to think about it. Tried to pretend she wasn't interested as she saw that image of beautiful silver turn and walk off. In her mind's eye, in the part of the brain that memories struck she could see the flames licking at him like a longing lover and it sent a chill down her spine to her very core. Something sinister, something evil, and she closed her eyes against the flood of words that wanted to come back into her own mind like a loving chorus. She knew it was just her own insanity - not the voice of the planet but it was so hard just to think with them all chiming up in her head. Growling with urgency she took the few Gil that she had managed to collect and moved towards the bar to buy herself something to eat before she would start her journey. She would follow this silver haired freak - and see what became of it. Not like she had anything better to do lounging around Midgar anyways.  
  
She headed into 7th heaven, and watched as the few patrons in the bar scooted away from her, as the images of the scowling man there. Sephiroth had headed off the day before but she could track him - for it hadn't rained yet and she knew where he was headed but also the shortcuts to get there. Running a hand through her hair with her gloves she growled at the large black man as he moved to stop her, ready to tell her they didn't accept charity cases when she flung the Gil at him, muttering in a heavy false accent that it should be enough to pay for one lousy meal before she took a seat at the bar and tried to find enough money to pay for a drink. No luck, so she waited instead for the brunette to give her the grub already. She ignored the glances, and the few patrons that seemed ready to run and eat somewhere else.  
  
She knew she stunk of the streets. Wasn't her choice - but they'd never think to find a woman with her skills rotting here when she could be living the life of luxery. They would never have thought in the time spent there that she would have cut off her beloved hair - the locks that reminded her so much of a man she'd never met but knew somewhere she loved already. A sort of love that goes with the depth of unbreakable. But she didn't expect to feel this way when she met him right away. The natural urge to destroy and kill what she hated was overwhelming to the point that it was almost as harsh as the chourus in her head that decided to chime in at the worst time.  
  
Seeing a plate of food deposited in front of her, she haunched over it protectivly almost immediatly, glancing up into a pair of curious yet kind brown eyes as a glass was set down. She opened her mouth to point out she had no money but Tifa only answered to say that it was on the house. The woman faltered though, in the light of the tavern the show of green eyes against the pale face and strands of silver that fell only to her chin trying to escape showed. The resemblence would be perfect, if not for the obvious buldge of brests on her chest. She turned her gaze down as she saw the color drain from the bartenders face and muttered an apology as she watched her step back and the big man come to comfort her. Maya didn't care, she busied herself with the food in front of her trying to hide an almost smug grin on her face at the thought that she disturbed her so.  
  
Tifa had never done anything to her, though still that distaste, that almost bitter hate towards the woman was something that she could never get over. The look in the woman's eyes when she saw cloud - the fear, the ugly glow of love that she had shined through. It was almost as disgusting as thinking that Aerith was back. Finishing the last bite of food she reached for the glass and felt a hand on her wrist. She followed the hand up to the face of the bouncer, tight with anger and restrained violence. She felt her body being lifted and the hood falling back to reveal her face and the gasps of the people in the tavern. Anger flushed her pale skin red, and the ugly curls of once beautiful silver fell in their chopped ruins around her chin, her green eyes narrowing.  
  
"An' lookiee here. NO CLONES ALLOWED. How did you get 'n 'ere?"  
  
"Let me go."  
  
Her words were simple but the threat was implied. She saw the patrons reaching for whatever weapons they might have carried and sighed almost dramatically. Her foot swept out faster than the man's eye could catch and she hit him hard in the shin below the knee and watched as his huge body collapsed like a ragdoll. She almost fell under him but as soon as her feet touched the ground she was springing into a backflip, the contents of the glass she had been holding falling to the floor in a clatter. She turned a pair of glaring eyes around the tavern and stood, pulling her hood back up as she looked to the pissed off looking black man holding his knee.  
  
"I only wanted a meal. I'll save you the trouble of loosing your life by exiting myself. I'm tired of this dump anyways."  
  
And without another word she turned and left the tavern, deciding to head out of town the back way instead of trying to work her way by those lousy gaurds.


	4. Fort Condor

Junon Harbor was no stone's throw away, but it wasn't too far that he couldn't make it there within a couple of days. Still, the hospitality of Fort Condor was among the best in the world, with Gold Saucer at first place. He stood in the one-bedroom compartment, carved out of the giant anthill as so many other homes were. He took in the craftsmanship with one glance before he bent his head to the infernal buckles in his armor. He hissed distastefully before working at them, thinking of the day's events, and most of all the most troubling possibility.

Someone was following him.

One heavy bit of his armor came loose. He tossed it with a clatter into a chair next to the standing lamp. Sephiroth was almost positive that whoever was tracking him along his journey, was very good at it. In fact, so good that it had taken him until tonight until he finally heard the sounds that gave the presence away. The stalker was damnably good, whoever he - or perhaps she - could be.

He relinquished his armor and carried his sword into the bathroom with him. It was roomy and immaculate, and he felt no disgust to be in it at all. The shower was inviting and his flesh itched wherever the leather had bitten into his most tender pieces of skin.

He slipped his jacket off and let it fall to the floor. His belt followed, and his pants...

The hot water made his skin jump. He immediately felt the repercussions of its heat when it nearly scalded him. But the power of it began to dissipate and he relaxed under the steamy downpour. He stood with his legs apart, fastiduously calm and serene as he leaned his head back, his hands reaching to lift his hair slightly and let the water douse it to nearly drenching. The water filled every available nook and cranny in his build, letting the filth of the world drain away into the more advanced drainage system of the fort.

Eyes closed, he barely heard a sound when he lurched to action, throwing the curtain aside with a snarl as he grabbed the sword and stared into the empty, steamy air. His door was ajar. He was positive he'd closed it. His moment of peace gone, he finally sank back into the water again and mumbled a curse. All the hot air was escaping. He stepped out, slammed the door and locked it this time, before slipping back into the shower. No free shows for the stalker!

He finished washing up and emerged, finding clean clothes waiting for him just by the door in another chair. What a love of chairs these pathetic humans had. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he silently thanked his lucky Ancestors that this place wasn't prone to turning Clones away. His scars were still aching where he had removed the stitches last night, and he rubbed them while he picked up the clothes. They were snug and warm, made of cotton that seemed to want to wrap him up in snuggly warmth.

They made him feel naked though. He wrapped his hair up and left it that way for awhile, lounging in thin cotton sweatpants that covered his feet and a large, thick sweatshirt that warmed him almost immediately. He watched the television, lounging on the bed on his stomach, sword at his side, of course. He would have his clothes cleaned, but it would cost extra. No matter. He would be gone before they even asked him for his bill.

There were the reports of clones popping up everywhere. Then the manhunts for rogue scientists, plopping their little laboratories in hidden caves all over the world. He blinked his eyes sleepily and digressed the knowledge quietly. What lab did he come from? He didn't even have the right number, except the ominous 'I' on his right hand. He closed his eyes, letting the lull of the television slowly draw him into slumber.

When he awoke, it was the sound of music spilling into his conscious ears. Something on the TV channel about music, or maybe it was just playing because there was nothing really 'scheduled' on such new frequency channels. Few stations from which to broadcast. He turned it off and rolled to his feet, rising slowly like a newly awakened corpse out of torpor.

Once again his door was unlocked, when he had sworn to have locked it that night. He glared at the opposing door, his senses teasing him to just kick out his leg and break it in half for being so utterly useless! But in the end, he merely dressed quietly in the darkness of the cavernous room and left, leaving whatever gold he spared on the nightstand beside the bed. And a note saying, "Purchase better locks and thicker doors."

Gongaga was still a long distance away. But it would all be worth the trip if he could see the look on that blonde boy's face. "Hello, can you tell me why everyone says I should be dead?" he recites out loud, cackling like an insane librarian. He climbs down the ladder to the narrow vestibule outside and wanders on to Junon.


End file.
